[April 8, 2007] [Princess Tutu] The Stalker

[haleysings.livejournal.com]

Title:  The Stalker
Day/Theme: April 8: Companion
Series: Princess Tutu
Character/Pairing: Autor, Malen…possibly Autor/Malen depending on how you look at it
Rating: G

If Autor was honest with himself, he would admit that he knew quite a bit about following people. Autor was generally not the most honest person, even with himself, but despite the slightly creepy feeling he had when he thought about it, yes—he knew quite a bit about following people, indeed.

But that was following people. He wasn’t used at all to being followed.

It had started the previous day as he had sat down (alone) to eat his typical midday meal, a book resting in front of him on the table as he ate. A normal day, by all accounts. He was engrossed in his book, happily blocking out all of the mindless chatter of the students around him, when a noise crashed through the wall of words. A noise that didn’t normally belong to the common eating area.
He looked up from his book and pushed his glasses up his nose, fully intending to tell the person responsible just how loud they were being, but what he saw stopped any words from leaving his mouth.

On the ground sat a girl with pale green hair and glasses. Next to her were the remains of a shattered plate—the cause of the noise, Autor assumed. The girl was rubbing her ankle and looking forlornly at the food that was scattered on the floor. A few of the students began to chuckle.

Typically, Autor would have done the same thing— gazed down at her from his high pedestal with a look that expressed just how pathetic he thought the girl was. He wasn’t sure why this time was different—maybe it was his own fall down the hill he had recently had. Maybe it was the tears he could see slowly forming in her eyes as the laughter got louder.

Whatever the reason, before he knew it he was getting up from his seat and walking over to the girl. “Are you hurt?” he asked, a little awkwardly.
The green-haired girl blinked up at him, looking a little surprised. “I-I don’t think so.”
“Then why do you keep rubbing your ankle like that?”
“I…I suppose it hurts a little.”
Autor did his best not to roll his eyes. “That counts as being hurt, silly.”
“I’m sorry.”
Could she look any more pathetic? “Do you think you can walk on it?”
She paused for a moment, looking at her ankle and seeming to consider the question for a moment before responding. “I believe so.”
“Here.” He held out his hand. She took it and rose to her feet, leaning against his arm a little when she gingerly put weight on her injured ankle. With a little effort, Autor took her over to the table he’d be sitting at, and guided her to a seat.

“I’m assuming that was your lunch?” Autor said, gesturing towards the mess she had left on the ground.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Do you have anything else to eat?”
“…I could find something.”
This time Autor did roll his eyes. “So you don’t, then.”
The girl shook her head, silently.
Her glasses-wearing ‘savior’ couldn’t help but sigh. “Of course you don’t. …Alright. I haven’t touched this portion of my food at all…have that.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” the girl said, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s your lunch, isn’t it?”
“I’m not that hungry. Besides, I’ll be busy cleaning up your mess.” And before the girl could argue, he turned and went to fetch cleaning supplies from a member of the school staff.

It wasn’t difficult work, really. When you live by yourself, you either have to get used to cleaning, or get used to a constant mess. The latter wasn’t an option when you were as meticulous as Autor, so he had managed to become a fairly decent housekeeper. (Of course, if someone had asked he would have probably said he had servants to that, because he had more important things to do than sweep and dust. If he had, it would’ve been an outright lie—the servants had left not too long after his mother.)

As soon as he was done cleaning the floor and returning the supplies, he checked his watch. Hm. It was later than he thought.
“You should get to class,” he told the girl.
“Did you eat anything?”
How did she manage to ask the exact question he didn’t want her to ask? “A little. It was enough.”
“…Thank you.”
It was funny how a simple phrase like “thank you” could throw a person off track for a moment. “I’m sorry?”
“Thank you…er…w-what’s your name?”
“Erm. It’s…Autor.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Autor. I’m Malen.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” he responded. (Was that a lie, or the truth? He wasn’t sure.)
The girl had handed him his book and—after thanking him once again (and again, and once more if he hadn't had stopped her)—walked out of the eating room, leaving him more than a little bewildered. Odd girl. A little pathetic, too. Appalling, even.

Autor had been determined to not worry with the incident—she didn’t appear to be in his division, so he doubted he’d ever have a reason to remember her name. But the next day, while he was walking to the library, he caught a glimpse of green hair reflected in one of the school’s windows. He stopped immediately, slightly stunned, and just as suddenly the reflection disappeared. He turned to look, and couldn’t see anyone there.

And now he was starting to see things. That girl was doing bizarre things to his mind.

He once again started to walk, at first making a noticeable effort to not look into any windows. But after a few minutes, he couldn’t resist stealing another glance into the reflective glass and…there it was again. This time, he continued to walk a short distance, before he stopped and pretended to take particular interest in a rose bush by the path. As he bent down to examine one of the roses, he glanced to the right.

Yes, that was definitely Malen. And yes, she was watching him—she was standing behind a statue a few yards away, seemingly unsure as to what she should do as he made his short detour.

He straightened and continued walking to the library. Maybe she just happens to be going in the same direction, he told himself. Maybe she’s just going to study at the library, herself. Yes, Autor, that’s a perfectly good, reasonable explanation.

But when he reached the library and sat down with his usual large stack of books, he could still feel eyes watching him. Constantly. He
wasn’t used to that…the occasional glance a him wasn’t unusual. Someone stealing a look as they whispered to their friends…not that weird.
But a complete stare? That wasn’t a common occurrence.

Well, if she wanted to stare, let her stare. Maybe she was just taken in by…his…good looks. That must be it.
(There was a near-audible snort of disbelief in his head at this thought, but he ignored it.)
He picked up the first book in his stack and began to read.

“For as long as there have been stories, men have gazed up at what we call the ‘Northern Lights’ in awe,” began the book in the familiar style of Drosselmeyer’s prose. “However, what men have forgotten is the shining colors we see in the northern sky are actually the gown of a Princess named Aurora—“
Which was better—the whispered gossip, the obnoxious chatter that used to be heard in the library from a duck-like girl, or this ominous silence combined with the knowledge that you’re being watched? Autor couldn’t decide. On one hand, at least she didn’t have any malicious intent (…as far as he could tell). And it wasn’t like she was disturbing him while he studied.

…No, that wasn’t true. She was disturbing him. She was disturbing him quite a bit.

He left the library early that day. Thankfully, for the sake of his sanity, the girl didn’t appear to want to follow him outside of the gates of the Academy, and he was able to return to his home without incident. He breathed a sigh of relief when he entered, and decided to read his books there instead.

It wouldn’t do to think about her, he decided. People had their odd quirks. She probably wouldn’t be there the next day.

She was. Every single moment that they didn’t have classes, it felt as though she was there. During his daily piano practice, she was there. Lunch? She was there. And she was once again behind him as he went to the library.
Once again, he wasn’t able to concentrate. Normally he almost had the words memorized by heart, but now? He read one sentence a half a dozen times before he finally gave up. He set down the book on the desk with a huff and began to stand.
Then, oddly enough, he saw a blur of green hair and a tan-colored uniform as the girl got up from her seat and ran to the front door. She was waiting for him there when he walked out of the library.

“You know,” he began before she had a chance to speak, “following me around all day is probably just going to injure your ankle more.”
“Oh! I…it’s just bruised. It’s almost better already,” she said in her typical quiet voice. “A-and I wanted to make sure I’d finish it quickly.”
“Finish…what quickly?”

The girl smiled softly and opened up a sketch book she had been carrying under her arm, turning to the page most recently drawn on. There, Autor saw a drawing of a boy seated at a library desk that looked remarkably like him. Not a perfect, photographic portrayal of course, but a reasonable likeness.
“…I wanted to thank you for the other day,” the girl said, looking at his face as if she was trying to read his expression like a book. “And…I’m in the Art division, so…I thought that if I drew you a picture…
“I’m sorry about the smudge in the middle of the page…I drew you reading a book at first, but…I saw you look out of the window and…I thought that might be a better pose. The original didn't erase as well as I had hoped.”
Autor had already noticed the smudge and had been paying particular attention to it, but when she mentioned the pose he glanced up at the drawing instead. The boy in the sketch was glancing out of the window, his chin cradled in the palm of his hand. His lips were slightly parted, and on his face was a look of…what was that emotion? Wistfulness?  Maybe with a tinge of…loneliness?

That’s pathetic, he told himself. He didn’t look like that.

“It’s…decent,” he mumbled. He slid the sketch in-between the pages of one of his books. Malen winced a little—wouldn’t the pencil marks smudge even more if he did that?—but clasped her hands in front of herself and said nothing.
“You seem to be paying attention during your lessons,” Autor continued, more boldly this time. “Good.”
“Ah…thank you,” the girl responded, sounding slightly disappointed. “Well…have a good day.”
She turned and began to walk down the path. As soon as she wasn’t looking, Autor pulled out the drawing again to look at it.

…Yes, that was definitely loneliness. And insecurity. And a dozen other useless, weak emotions he had never seen cross his face when he looked at himself in the mirror in the morning.

Of course…he was generally not the most honest person, even with himself.

“Hey...wait up! Your name…it’s Malen, right? …Do you have any plans for lunch tomorrow?”